


a ticket to anywhere

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Running Away, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: It’s easy to leave. Jordan’s had it planned for the past six years, although he didn’t actually think he’d ever get to use those plans.The only thing that changes during his discussions with Virgil is where they’re going.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	a ticket to anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> in this fic they're around 18/19.
> 
> happy reading – comments and kudos always appreciated xx

Jordan looks up at Virgil, drags the back of his hand across his mouth. Takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that it’s now or never. 

He has to do this. For his future.

“I want to leave,” Jordan says firmly. He waits for Virgil’s reaction.

Virgil, sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, reacts belatedly. Finally, though, he looks up from his phone, eyebrows knitted together and cheeks pink from the warmth of the central heating. 

“Leave where?” He asks, clueless. “My house? You want to go home?” 

“No, Virgil,” Jordan says carefully. He keeps his gaze trained on Virgil’s face. He doesn’t want to miss anything. “I want to leave this town.” 

“Where will you go?” Virgil asks. Jordan thinks he sounds hurt, but he’s not quite sure. “Alone? Or… have you found someone? A friend, or…?”

_A lover_ , Virgil’s voice in Jordan’s mind supplies. Even now, they’re dancing around it all.

Jordan hesitates. Takes a deep breath.

“I want you to come with me,” he says fiercely. 

Virgil’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

“You want… Me?” Virgil asks. He seems confused, nose wrinkling. “Why?” 

“Because –– Because I know you hate it here too,” Jordan rushes out. That, and the other thing. “Because you make me smile when I feel like the whole world is trying to get me. Because you’re my best friend and I’m selfish enough to want you by my side when I make the biggest jump of my life and stand on my own two feet.”

Virgil is quiet for a long, long time.

“...Okay,” he says eventually, and Jordan is so relieved he feels light headed.

“Okay?” Jordan repeats, curling his fingers into fists and digging his nails into his palms. He has to be sure.

“Yeah,” Virgil whispers, looking up at Jordan from underneath his lashes. “Yes. Let’s go. Anywhere but here. Stand on our own two feet.” 

Jordan breathes out so hard his lungs hurt.

.

It’s easy to leave. Jordan’s had it planned for the past six years, although he didn’t actually think he’d ever get to use those plans.

The only thing that changes during his discussions with Virgil is where they’re going.

And it’s not far, not really – an hour down the road, so they can still come back without much fuss. By the sea, where there’s a touristy front hiding a beautiful community that welcomes everyone. That’s where they’ll be happiest, and Jordan knows it.

It helps that it’s Virgil he’s going with. To be honest, he wouldn’t want to go with anyone else – the way he feels about Virgil is crazy, heart pounding tenfold at every smile. Virgil doesn’t know that, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to keep it a secret. Someone like Virgil, with his nice hair and easy eyes, is never going to be interested in plain old _Jordan_.

They’re best friends, and that’s enough.

They do decide to leave at night, though. Under the cover of darkness, when no one can see them – although that’s ridiculous because they’re going to say goodbye to their families first, so it’s not exactly a secret. 

It’s nice, planning for it. They end up spending a lot of time together, in Virgil’s bedroom rather than Jordan’s, because – well. The reason they’re leaving lives at Jordan’s house, doesn’t he?

“He hasn’t always been like this, you know,” Jordan says one night, voice quiet, eyes trained on his cup of tea. Virgil pauses his game and looks up with wide eyes, like he’s begging for honesty. “My dad. He wasn’t always an… an alcoholic.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s better that way.

“He was an amazing dad, when we were younger,” Jordan continues. He takes a long sip of his tea just to collect his thoughts. “Played football with me in the garden every day. Drove me to all my tournaments and cheered on the sidelines. But he was a police officer, you see. He was a policeman, and he got shot in the leg when he was breaking up a gang fight in the city centre.”

Virgil’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, discarding the controller and curling his fingers around Jordan’s ankle. The touch is comforting.

“He was addicted to the painkillers they gave him for the nerve damage. Mum realised, and as soon as she did, she marched him to the doctors and they weaned him off them. It was all going fine, at first – he couldn’t play football with me anymore because his leg was too bad, but he watched me, and he was so good with Jody – but mum found out he was secretly drinking. He was drinking to deal with the pain.” Jordan says. He sets his mug on the windowsill and wipes the back of his hand across his nose, desperate to try and stop the tears.

He’s never spoken about this before, not out loud and definitely not to someone who’s not in the family, but the soothing back and forth sweep of Virgil’s thumb over the sharp bone of his ankle helps.

“He refused to get help, said he didn’t need any,” Jordan whispers. This time, his eyes fill with tears and he can’t stop them. “So mum left. She took Jody but she left me and she said I needed to step up and look after him. I got a job at the local newsagents just to try and afford a tin or two of beans for dinner, and I was lucky enough that the old man that owned the shop liked me. He used to give me stuff to take home and said it was past its sell by date, but I knew it wasn’t. He just pitied me.”

“How old were you?” Virgil asks. He shifts from the floor onto the bed, wrapping an arm around Jordan’s shoulders. Jordan deflates, weight resting entirely against Virgil.

“Twelve,” Jordan says. There’s a long, sickening silence that follows.

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil says eventually. He sounds like he’s in disbelief. 

Jordan tries to pull away, but Virgil won’t let him.

“It’s not like,” he starts, then stops. He doesn’t even really know what he’s trying to say. “I’m not giving up on him, Virgil. I’m not, I’m really, really not. But the thing is… I need to give myself a chance at life, too. And I am never going to be able to do that if I’m working myself to the bone to care for an old, pathetic man who barely even grunts at me when he sees me.” 

“I understand,” Virgil says softly. It sounds like he does. “The reason I said yes is because my mum treats me like a third parent to Jordon and Jennee. And –– I get it, you know? I love them to bits, they’re my siblings. Of course I love them. I’m happy to help out when mum’s working, but she – she promised me things would be different when we moved here. There hasn’t been a single damn change.” 

Jordan looks at Virgil, the sweep of his eyelashes, the curve of his nose, the downturned corners of his mouth.

Maybe they’re more alike than he first thought.

.

He stops off at home. His bags are already packed, sitting neatly in the corner of his bedroom, and he has to pick them up. That, and the fact he can’t leave without saying goodbye to his father.

His dad, predictably, is sitting (slumped) in his armchair when Jordan steps through the front door. Sometimes it feels like he hasn’t seen him move for the best part of six years – always in that same spot, rotting away, the shriveled husk of a man with nothing to offer the world.

Jordan pities him.

He spares him a single glance as he jogs up the stairs, and steps into his bedroom. Takes a deep breath and looks around, knowing it’s the last time he’s going to be here. This place is special, really.

There, on the bed – the first time he ever came out to anyone, whispering the words _i’m gay_ to Virgil and being terrified of the reaction. There, by the window, when Virgil hugged him tight and told him his sexuality didn’t matter, didn’t impact their friendship one bit. On the floor where Virgil slept when he broke up with his first boyfriend, bringing him cups of tea and charming the whiskey-soaked shell downstairs.

He doesn’t feel sad about it. He knows he’s moving onto bigger and better things.

He grabs the suitcase and the duffel bag that’s waiting for him and shoves them into the hall, closing the door behind him with a single click of finality, and drags his belongings down the stairs. To be honest, there’s not that much – if Virgil asks, he’ll say that he’s mastered the art of packing to the point that he can fit everything in two bags, but the reality is that he’s never been one for having many material things.

The reality is that he’s never been allowed to have too many material things. Between paying all the bills for the past six years and the prospect of his volatile drunkard of a father smashing things up in a rage, he’s never quite seen the point.

He sets all his belongings by the front door and pokes his head into the living room. His father looks up, which isn’t something he was expecting.

“Are you going somewhere?” He asks. Jordan nods. “When will you be back?”

“I’m not,” Jordan says awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His father gives him a blank expression. “I’m not coming back.”

“You’re leaving?” His father asks. Jordan nods again, tiny, miniscule, like he’s scared to confirm it. He has no idea what the reaction is going to be. His father’s face remains unchanged. “Good. Good for you, son. You deserve more than this.”

He didn’t expect that reaction.

“Are you going with that boy?” His dad asks. He thinks for a moment, silently clicking his fingers against the arm of the chair he’s probably going to die in. “That… What’s his name… Virgil? That is his car I can hear running outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jordan breathes. He wonders if his dad knows about his feelings for Virgil. “That’s him.”

His father nods. “I hope you’re happy,” he says.

It’s the only thing he’s ever said about Jordan’s sexuality.

Jordan stays quiet, and a thick, sickening silence blankets the room. It’s awkward because this is the longest conversation they’ve had since Jordan was ten years old and his dad took him to McDonald’s to celebrate his football team winning.

They don’t even know each other anymore.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a good dad to you,” his father says suddenly, shattering the atmosphere. Jordan flinches, heart aching in his chest.

“It’s too late for regrets,” he says softly, turning to leave. He’s had enough.

But he pauses, hand on the door frame. Looks over his shoulder at the man in the chair, the one he barely recognises. 

“If you want to make it right, then sort yourself out and make an effort with Jod,” Jordan says. It’s the only thing his father can offer – he has nothing for Jordan anymore.

His dad nods, tears glinting in his eyes.

The thud of the front door closing behind him sounds like finality, and Virgil’s tiny smile reflected in the car window looks like a new beginning.

.

He doesn’t know what he expected after Virgil told his mum. Jordan was waiting in the car, fists clenched and eyes closed. Half of him thought Virgil would change his mind, and the other half – well, it thought the same as the rest of him. He just had this awful sickening feeling in his gut, telling him that it wasn’t going to happen.

Telling him that he wasn’t this lucky.

But none of that happens. Virgil comes out with a nervous little smile on his face, curling and uncurling his fingers, and he gets into the car, and lets out a big breath. Jordan holds his, too scared to move.

“Ready, then?” Virgil asks, fingertips ghosting over the key in the ignition. Jordan snaps out of his trance, and blinks up at Virgil.

“You’re still coming?” He asks, hating the way his voice shakes with fear.

“Of course I am,” Virgil says, like it’s obvious. It’s not obvious. Not in the slightest. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno,” Jordan says. His voice is still trembling, throat thick. He feels like he’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. But if… if he’s coming, then that means… “I thought your mum would’ve talked you out of it.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone stop me from coming with you,” Virgil says. A confirmation. That’s exactly what it means. “And regardless – she was happy for me. She knows how I feel. She knows that she made some mistakes. She wants me to do this.”

Jordan presses his head back against the passenger seat and breathes out. 

“Are you ready?” Virgil asks, looking directly at Jordan.

The older man swallows, and nods.

He’s never been more ready for anything in his life.

.

They’ve only been on the road for forty five minutes when Jordan starts to get restless.

They’re almost there, just on the last stretch of the motorway before they hit the outskirts of the city – but then it’s the drive through the centre, until they find a car park overlooking the sea so they can just grab their bags and find the nearest beachfront hotel for the night.

So Jordan gets restless, shifting in his seat.

It’s weird, he thinks. With every mile that passes between him and the place he used to call home, his shoulders feel lighter, every single ounce of weight lifting. He doesn’t have to carry the world anymore – he can make his own decisions, his own mistakes, and they won’t impact anyone else. 

Virgil glances over at him, and puts his hand on Jordan’s knee to stop him moving.

“Do you need the loo or something?” He asks. Jordan’s cheeks burn bright red. “Is that why you’re fidgeting?”

“No!” Jordan exclaims, grateful that Virgil can see his blushing in the dark night. It’s gone midnight now – a new day. A new start. A new _life_. “I just –– feel weird. That’s all. Like… leaving everything behind. I feel different.”

Virgil’s face softens. “I know what you mean,” he says.

They fall silent, only the soft tones of the radio playing quietly in the background. Jordan’s singing along in his head, but it wouldn’t feel right to break the silence.

“Look,” Virgil says. Jordan doesn’t mind the peace being shattered when it’s Virgil’s voice that’s breaking it. “There’s services half a mile away. Why don’t we stop and get a cup of tea? You can lap the food court and burn off some of that nervous energy.”

Jordan agrees, because it’s the only thing he can do.

The car park is dead when Virgil pulls in. He parks near the back, although Jordan isn’t sure why – there’s only twenty cars in around one hundred and fifty spaces, but all around them are rows and rows of emptiness. 

“Are you coming in?” Virgil asks, noticing how Jordan’s stayed completely still in his seat. “Or do you want me to go?” 

“I’ll stay here,” Jordan confirms. He feels like he’s going to float away if he unroots himself from the passenger seat of Virgil’s car. “Milk and ––”

“Two sugars,” Virgil buts in, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

Jordan smiles into the pitch black night as the door slams behind Virgil.

It’s freezing, just sitting there. His toes are cold and he can see his breath fogging up the air in front of him, and it was almost definitely a bad idea to move to the coast in the dead of winter, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. 

Especially not when he sees Virgil walking back across the car park, cardboard cup in each hand. Jordan gets out of the car to greet him, and takes his tea gratefully.

“Woman in there was trying to chat me up,” Virgil says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Jordan raises an eyebrow. “She was like –– seventy.”

“Sure it weren’t just your massive ego getting in the way?” Jordan asks, taking the plastic lid off of his cup and blowing across the top of his tea. Just holding it is warming him up nicely. “She was probably being nice to you because she thought you were living rough. Sleeping in your car –– especially with that scruff on your face.”

Jordan reaches out to touch the stubble on his cheeks, and Virgil doesn’t bat him away.

“I’m just trying something!” Virgil pouts, scrubbing a hand over the coarse hairs. “Glad to know you don’t like it, though. I’ll get rid of it tomorrow.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Jordan says before his brain can stop him. “I like it. Just not – all the time. I like you as you were. Clean shaven. You look good like that. I mean, you always look good.”

Virgil smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling delicately.

Jordan decides that it’s now or never.

He sets his cup on the roof of Virgil’s car and takes the younger mans’ out of his hands to do the same. Virgil looks confused, but only half heartedly, like he knows exactly where this is going.

And he does, because he doesn’t blink twice when Jordan fists his hands in the lapels of his coat and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him.

The kiss is warm and tastes like sweet tea, and something that Jordan’s brain labels as _Virgil_ straight away. It’s the first time this has happened but it feels like he’s been doing it for his entire life, and the aching hole of yearning in his chest finally closes up into something settled. 

He’s content, because he feels like he’s finally come home.

Virgil’s hands slide underneath his sweatshirt to rest on his waist, cold at the fingertips but in a way that makes Jordan feels like he’s on fire, and he pulls back with a gasp. His lashes are fanned across his cheeks, casting dark shadows, and Jordan feels like he’s going to burst.

“I love you,” he whispers, and watches Virgil blink, a tiny, trembling smile spreading across his mouth.

“I love you too,” Virgil says, swooping forward to steal a small kiss.

Jordan leans into him, and knows that Virgil is always going to catch him when he falls.

Because they’re about to start a new life.

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
